Jetlag

After the first sleep of the longest day in Paris, I wake with the taste of Camembert still in my mouth. It is 9 o’clock. Banks that should be open at that hour are gated shut. I wobble to the Monoprix, purchase packaged croissants and milk – breakfast items. The sky darkens, impending doom, I think, but it’s only, surprisingly, night. I return to bed.